


Of Vulcans and Christmas

by livelongandgetiton



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Andorians, Christmas, First Time, Fluff, Klingon, M/M, Oblivious, Snow, Snowball Fight, Star Trek: AOS, Winter, general stupidity, psycho mccoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livelongandgetiton/pseuds/livelongandgetiton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The normally austere Vulcan looked alarmingly similar to the character from the old terran Christmas children’s story, Frosty the Snowman, though instead of snow he was clad in downy Starfleet Black and bore a decidedly un-jolly expression on his pointed features."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Vulcans and Christmas

One of the drawbacks to living on a starship all year, Jim thought, was the inevitable loss of the tangible elements of the seasons on Earth. Sure, they celebrated the large ones—festive, banquet-like dinners in the mess for Thanksgiving; glittering garish tinsel with red and pink hearts in the rec room for Valentine’s day; and his personal favorite—the engineers programming special combinations of hot chocolate and eggnog into the replicators for Christmas (though undeniably his favorite eggnog concoction involved a little flavor booster from Bones’ antique Southern Comfort collection)—but sometimes the impromptu celebrations and decorations just couldn’t cut it.  
  
Being in the cold vacuum of space pretty much negated any opportunity for the experience of the more subtle seasonal sensations, and left him nostalgic: the crisp scent of autumn, the cold nip of winter (especially prominent in _his_ home state), the balmy heat of spring and summer.  
  
Jim also knew he wasn’t the only one who internally (and sometimes verbally) waxed poetic about the subtle nuances of the change of seasons; the other crew members sometimes ruefully smiled at the small, plastic Christmas tree that was anonymously erected in the corner of the rec room every December—wishing, no doubt, that they could spend the holiday somewhere less…spacey.  
  
Of course, the captain was aware that the crew was—by no means—entirely human. But he knew that the climates varied on the other planets from which his crew had come, and that was why he tried to find planets for shore leave that fit a rotation of seasons.

And that was why, currently, he was so elated with his choice for the next shore leave—a Class P planet essentially repossessed by the Federation from negligent, rogue Klingons (who thought the planet might be rich in mineral deposits underneath all those glacial layers, were wrong, and consequentially abandoned their conquest) called Upsilon IV (though Jim considered briefly calling it by its Klingon name, “mIp yuQmey,” just to frighten the crew) the fourth of 6 planets in the Upsilon Aquarii system located in the Alpha Quadrant.

It was not incredibly far from their own solar system; approximately 100 light years away from Earth, but they could not return for this shore leave—the next mission was in the Beta Quadrant.

The current stardate was 2260.351—about a week from Christmas—and the Captain of the U.S.S. Enterprise had been hunting for the perfect Holiday shore leave planet for weeks. Finally he had stumbled across it. The abandoned Klingon conquest had been repurposed; a small town (really, it was more of a village) of about 100 beings—a combination of humans from a colony on Rigel X, pacifist Andorians, and a few other miscellaneous species lived on the surface of the cold, yet habitable planet to run a winter resort for passing travelers.

The planet itself was beautiful; sloping ivory hills coated in light, fluffy snow, perfect for skiing—ancient of a pastime as it was. There were several cabins for rent, and they faced a large lake that had been frozen for half a century at least, eerily crystal clear for several dozen feet down and perfect for ice-skating.

The native life consisted only of some hardy trees and other flora, and a few small native species (no giant, terrifying ice-beasts like the ones Jim harbored bad memories from the last time he visited a glacial planet) that seemed content to share the small planet (about the size of Pluto) with their human neighbors.

When Jim had initially introduced the idea of spending shore leave on—essentially—an ice planet to Bones (not that he needed reassurance or anything, he was just curious as to what he would think), his CMO laughed at him and asked him if he was feeling sentimental about his time spent on Delta Vega in a cave with Spock Senior.  
  
And then went on to ask if it was the younger Spock’s turn.  
  
With an annoyed tick of his jaw, he had reminded Bones where the brig was, and mumbled something about insubordination. Bones had held up a hypo between two fingers in retaliation and blinked twice, slowly. Jim stormed out.

Whatever—it was a good idea and he knew it was!

The next day during alpha shift, he made a ship-wide announcement. The expressions of the bridge crew shifted from trepidation at the mention of a glacial planet to slow-building excitement when he brought up the complimentary luxury cabins and leisure activities offered.

His crew deserved a White Christmas, and he told them as much. Chuckles resounded throughout the bridge as the crew turned back to their work, an aura of lightheartedness and buzzing excitement permeating the atmosphere.

Spock merely raised an amused eyebrow—which spoke volumes for him, the ever-stoic Vulcan—and Jim couldn’t help the slow smile that crossed his face.

*

Jim rolled his shoulders, rubbing gingerly at the swells of muscle on the backs of his biceps. He really needed this shore leave.

The door to his quarters chimed, and he called out, “enter.”

The door swished open to reveal his Vulcan first officer, looking pristine as ever. The bright lights from the hallway backlit his slender form and spilled into the darkened room.

“Hey, Spock. Come on in. It’s bright out there,” Jim laughed, pretending to shield his eyes.

Spock, expectedly, quirked an eyebrow at the captain and walked inside, hovering awkwardly near the entrance with his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

Jim smiled, motioning for him to sit down across from him at his desk.

Spock hesitated momentarily before nodding stiffly and moving to sit across from Kirk.

“Captain, I merely wished to express my approval of your selected locale for this terran holiday’s shore leave—”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Spock,” Jim interrupted, amused, but sure that some note of disapproval was forthcoming.  
  
“Thanks are unnecessary,” he continued—and then his facial features shifted minutely to convey pensiveness. “However, being from a desert planet, I find myself at a loss in regards to the extent of coverage that my wardrobe should entail, seeing as the planet is indeed categorized as class P but inhabitable, and furthermore, since humans—quite illogically—seem to derive _joy_ from deliberately spending time in these conditions—”

“Whoa, whoa wait, Spock,” the captain interrupted his first officer’s crisp diction with a derisive snort, eyes shining even more brightly with glee (and a tad of mirth) when Spock’s eyebrow twitched upwards a fraction. “Are you…are you seriously asking me for _fashion advice?_ This is rich, I-”

Spock’s spine stiffened, his features barely concealing the haughty indignation glowing in the depths of those dark eyes.

“I merely wished to convey my dearth of experience in the climatology of certain areas of Earth where such harsh conditions are considered non-threatening under certain circumstances, wherein the proper clothing is involved, and sought your advice—”

“I was just kidding, Spock,” Jim said, hiding a smile behind his hand, though his eyes shone with laughter.

He pushed away from his desk, spinning slightly in an arc as his chair rolled sluggishly across the floor.

“Plenty of undershirts. Lots of socks. Heavy, woolen ones, or whatever synth material the replicators use—not those flimsy ankle ones that somehow managed to make regulation…” Jim sighed, rolling his eyes and attempting to balance the stylus from his datapad between his upper lip and the bottom of his nose.

Spock’s eyes followed the movement with thinly-veiled curiosity and amusement.

“…make sure you bring the thermal undershirts, too…a regulation winter jacket. Hats, scarves, gloves,” Jim’s eyes traveled upwards as he ran through the mental list, his teeth boring into his bottom lip in contemplation.  
  
He nodded once, decisively, when he was sure that he had mentioned everything important. Spock waited patiently through the pensive silence.  
  
“Is that all, captain?”  
  
“Jim. We’re off duty.”

“Is that all, Jim?”

“Yep, I’m pretty sure. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”  
  
“Very well. I shall endeavor to include these essential items in my packing for shore leave. Thank you, captain.”

As Spock turned and began to walk from the room, arms still clasped—albeit more loosely than before—behind his back, Jim called out.  
  
“Goodnight, Spock.”  
  
There was a slight falter in Spock’s step, and although he did not turn around, Jim swore he could almost hear the smile that threatened to grace the Vulcan’s lips when he spoke.  
  
“Good evening, Jim.”

*

Jim decided that holographs should be taken to document the occasion, should he ever be in need of a morale-booster—there was truly nothing more comical than seeing his crew, many of whom who were not from Earth or had not spent any time in cold climates, prepare for shore leave on an ice planet.

Jim was actually keeping his composure quite admirably—standing with his first officer and the transport room operator as landing parties beamed down—until Keenser waddled up, wearing what appeared to be 8 or 9 engineering tunics on top of each other. His arms stuck out at his sides; it looked like he was physically incapable of putting them down. He slowly looked up at the captain, despair evident in his alien face, and blinked twice. Jim snorted in laughter, clutching at a very disapproving Spock for support.

The beam-down went according to schedule, and when just a skeleton crew remained aboard (including Scotty who apparently preferred to drool over schematics than frolic in the snow). Jim and Spock prepared for beam down with the rest of the main bridge crew.

Jim let his gaze wander around the room as all of them made their way to the transport pad. Uhura looked stunning in a deep red pea coat and furry black boots, a matching black set of earmuffs on her head. Chekov stood next to her, adorned in a coat with a lining that looked like it might’ve come from a wooly mammoth, and a furry black ushanka with the flaps tied under his chin that swallowed up the majority of his curly, golden head. Sulu stood next to him, apparently valiantly attempting not to laugh while the ensign buzzed around, a blur of black and brown buried under his Siberian snow gear.  
  
“Hey, where’s Bones?” Jim pondered aloud, suddenly noticing the CMO’s absence.  
  
“Don’t know. But the last time I saw him he was carrying, like, 6 wilderness survival kits and cursing your name to multiple deities,” Sulu said soberly, adjusting the yellow cotton Starfleet scarf around his neck.  
  
“Ah. Well, I’m sure he’ll beam down once he’s finished plotting my demise,” Jim remarked, and waved his hand lazily at the transport operator.  
  
“Energize.”  
  
*  
  
A cheery Andorian female greeted them in the lobby of a rather stately looking wood and windowed structure, towering high above their heads and tapering to a pointed vault structure. A holographic fireplace burned blue at the other end of the room, emitting a synthetic heat even from 30 feet away. The wood was burnished to a deep, rich mahogany color, and the bright reflection of the snow lit the room in an ethereal glow, coupled with the cerulean flames from the fireplace. Kirk was giddy to see what the cabins looked like.  
  
The Andorian stepped forward with a smile, her antennae curved forward in a friendly, welcoming gesture. They were flushed darker blue than her normal powder blue skin tone, as were her cheeks (no doubt from recently being out in the cold weather) and her silvery-white hair was in a short pixie cut that kirk had never seen on any Andorian woman before.  
  
“Hello, enterprise crew! I am Thani. We are pleased to have you here.”  
  
“It is a pleasure to be here, Thani. I am Captain James T. Kirk,” he began, putting on his best charming smile. “This is my First Officer Spock,” he said, gesturing to the Vulcan at his side—“and these are some other upstanding members of my crew. The rest, I’m sure you’ve met, since they beamed here first.”  
  
Thani smiled warmly in response, her antennae bobbing slightly as she nodded.  
  
“Indeed, captain. Your crew is as charming as you yourself.”  
  
She blinked up at him through her eyelashes, the corner of her mouth tipping up.  
  
 _Things just got interesting,_ Jim pondered, smirking back at her.  
  
“Captain, perhaps now would be a good time to examine our quarters,” he heard Spock say beside him, his tone flat.  
  
Spock could hide his annoyance from most fairly well, but Jim could read him well enough to know when his first officer was reconsidering his decision to put up with his captain’s idiosyncrasies (and insatiable—though very often harmless—tendency for flirtation).  
  
Thani’s cheeks colored a darker shade of blue but she did not lower her eyes, a bit of haughty Andorian pride showing through (an admirable quality in small doses) as she cast one last parting smirk in the captain’s direction.  
  
“Of course, Mister Spock. My apologies. If you would all just follow me?” she spun around, zipping up her bulky coat as a blast of cool air washed over them all from wintry landscape as the automated sliding doors _wooshed_ open.

Jim realized, however,  that the air didn’t feel nearly cold enough for the temperature on the planet’s surface—and then realized that they were not actually outside, but rather, in what appeared to be a glass-enclosed barrel vault, arching over a clean stone-walkway. The snow was falling in fat flakes against the glass and there was a paradoxical sort of roaring silence that washed over them all as they walked on the short path to the cabins, about 60 feet or so ahead. Curious, Jim extended a hand as he walked, fingertips brushing the cool surface of the glass. It felt solid, but lighter than the ultra-compressed material used on the porthole windows on the Enterprise. He hadn’t encountered real glass in a while.  
  
“It is curious that glass is used, as opposed to transparent aluminum,” Spock commented, assumedly to Jim, voicing his own thoughts.  
  
“I was just thinking the same thing,” he said over his shoulder, swallowing the stupid giddiness that came with the fact that he and Spock were on a similar wavelength.  
  
“Yes, we often get asked that question by explorers such as yourselves,” Thani began, a smile in her voice. “It appeals to the vintage terra theme that we have here, mixed with elements from other cultures. For example, the fireplace you saw in the lobby—an homage to planets, such as my own, where amounts of copper chloride that exist naturally in our lumber produce a blue flame.” She paused, pulling an envelope from her jacket pocket, and emptying the key chips into her palm. “Transparent aluminum is also in high demand for space exploration, so…it’s cheaper for us to buy glass in smaller quantities.”  
  
As they reached the end of the glass hallway, two double doors ahead of them, Thani turned around to face them and held out the key chips for Kirk to take.  
  
“I know it’s very nearly archaic, not having the whole process be digital,” she began, as Kirk took the chips from her, studying them with curiosity, “but I think it adds to the vintage charm, don’t you?”  
  
“Well, I’m certainly charmed,” Jim retorted, a grin crossing his face.  
  
He heard Uhura’s groan and could nearly _feel_ Spock’s silent, stewing irritation.  
  
Thani smiled, and apparently got a look at Spock’s expression when the line of her lips straightened out a bit.  
  
“Anyway, it’s two to a cabin, each number on those chips corresponds the number on the cabins—if you need anything feel free to comm the lobby—the coordinates are programmed into the comm units in your cabins. Enjoy your stay!”  
  
Kirk beamed as he pushed out of the glass double-doors, the cold air hitting his face and lighting up his skin like an electric shock. He couldn’t wait.  
  
*  
“Welp, I didn’t wanna be a dick and leave Bones to room with someone else, but…” Jim began, staring down at a chip in his hand and then up at Spock. “He’s taking too long. I don’t have time for him to perform his sacrificial rites against me or whatever…”  
  
Spock tilted his head, clearly amused, but said nothing.  
  
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. The man will be forever pissed at me for assigning shore leave on an ice-planet, no matter how nice that ice-planet is.”  
  
“It is a fascinating development that the doctor does not prefer colder climates, due to his icy demeanor.”  
  
Jim laughed heartily at the comment, smacking Spock on the shoulder. He ignored the way his stomach jumped at the sparkle that lingered in his friend’s dark eyes. Everyone liked to receive approval for their jokes. Spock was no different, even if he hid it. Jim just loved getting even the smallest positive reaction out of him, though. It reminded him of how far they’d come since Spock had tossed him around like a ragdoll on the bridge during the Narada incident.  
  
“Alright, you’re my favorite today. Bones can find someone else to room with. Less chance he’ll kill me in my sleep, anyway,” Kirk chuckled, walking past Spock and up to the door.  
  
It was wooden, like the rest of the exterior, but Kirk suspected there was some sort of much more modern insulation inside; a metal slot with a scanner rested above the doorknob. Kirk ran the chip underneath the scanner, and a small beep sounded, the tumblers in the door clicking into place.  
  
Kirk exhaled in awe as he stepped into the cabin, Spock following deftly behind him. It looked similar to the lobby but smaller and cozier. Two twin sized beds sat on either side of the room, and a smaller fireplace burned cerulean in the back of the room, with a long couch in front of it.  
  
Throwing his bags onto one of the beds, he dove for the couch, sighing in ecstasy as he sunk into the memory foam material, the heat of the fireplace soaking into his skin. He could easily fall asleep like this. He felt his eyes beginning to slip closed. Maybe a little nap couldn’t hurt...  
  
“Captain,” he heard spoken above him.  
  
“Jim,” he corrected, not cracking an eye and rolling over onto his back.  
  
“Jim.”  
  
After a few moments of silence, Jim’s eyes fluttered open. Spock was standing above him, looking down over the back of the couch. His lips were quirked ever so slightly upwards at the corners, but he appeared to school his expression as soon as the captain’s gaze drifted to his own.  
  
 _Sneaky Vulcan.  
  
_ “Yes, Spock?” he answered sleepily, his arms crossing behind his head.  
  
“Would the bed not be a more practical place to take a nap?” he queried, his head tilted in mock confusion but his tone teasing.  
  
Jim blinked slowly up him, his lips tipping upwards in a smirk.  
  
“Are you asking me to bed, Spock?” he said in a low voice, his eyes sparkling with mirth.  
  
“I am assuming that is an innuendo, Jim.”  
  
Jim laughed. He loved their little back and forths. Anyone who said Spock didn’t have a sense of humor was clearly just not honored enough to have seen the Vulcan like this, relaxed and casual, leaning ever-so-slightly over the edge of the couch, a smile constantly threatening to break his solemn expression.  
  
“Oh, it totally is. Does that change your answer?” he retorted, eyebrows bouncing ridiculously.  
  
“No,” Spock replied ambiguously after a short pause, his dark eyes unreadable.  
  
Jim’s breath caught in his throat, and he suddenly felt a little prone, lying on his back with Spock’s graceful form towering over him. He realized at that moment how much closer his First Officer’s face was to his own as his lanky torso leaned over the back of the couch. Jim considered his position, stretched out lengthwise, rather vulnerable—and felt a hot flush creeping up his neck. His eyes were still locked on Spock’s when a banging sounded at the door.  
  
“Kyeptin Kurk! Kyeptin Kurk!” a muffled voice shouted through the door.  
  
Jim started at the noise, sitting up quickly and moving to open the door. Spock was already on the other side of the room.  
  
He flung the door open, and the startled ensign nearly toppled over into the cabin, snow encrusted hat and all.  
  
“Chekov. What is it?” he asked, reminding himself to be patient as the wide-eyed 18-year-old righted himself.  
  
“Doctor McCoy is looking for you! He looked wery upset, keptin! He says that you are in deep…” Chekov trailed off, his eyes sliding over Kirk’s shoulder to meet Spock’s no doubt admonishing gaze. “I’m sorry keptin! He is wery accurate with snowballs and would not stop throwing zhem until I told him where your cabin was!”  
  
Kirk’s eyes widened. He turned around with a panicked expression to look at Spock, who merely raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“Spock, it’s time to evacuate. I say we go hide in the snowy wilderness.”  
  
Spock sighed almost inaudibly, clearly using most of his Vulcan control not to roll his eyes as he began dawning his winter apparel.  
  
“Chekov, you’re lucky I’m too terrified of our CMO right now to charge you with treason,” Kirk called over his shoulder as he jogged to his bag, quickly pulling out his parka and other miscellaneous snow gear and tugging it on.  
  
The ensign let out a distressed cry of anguish from the doorway.  
  
Jim looked over his shoulder and felt a migraine threaten at his furrowed brow as he noticed the look of abject horror on the teenager’s face.  
  
“Chekov, I was kidding.”  
  
*  
  
Jim walked quickly across the snow covered path that led to a sort of courtyard in front of the lobby. There were a few sparse looking earth pines, but other than that, not much coverage. A good portion of the crew was out and about, building snowmen or simply frolicking in the snow.  
  
“Well, so much for hiding out in the vast wilderness,” Kirk muttered over his shoulder to Spock, who he assumed had just followed him out the door.  
  
When no reply was forthcoming, the blond turned around and was surprised to the see Spock several steps behind.

The normally austere Vulcan looked alarmingly similar to the character from the old terran Christmas children’s story, _Frosty the Snowman,_ though instead of snow he was clad in downy Starfleet Black and bore a decidedly un-jolly expression on his pointed features.  
  
Jim refused to admit how adorable he looked, complete with a pale, olive color beginning to dust his cheekbones and nose.  
  
“Cold much?” he teased, tugging his own scarf a little tighter against his throat.  
  
“My body is perfectly capable of homeostasis, captain. I am adequate,” Spock snapped back, his fidgeting feet doing nothing to prove his point.  
  
“Well, I know, but…you’re used to higher temperatures. Your body temperature is lower than mine, and—”  
  
“It is approximately 32.8 degrees Celsius to the average human temperature of 37 degrees Celsius—”  
  
“The answer to a question I never asked,” Jim plowed on, not missing the way Spock’s eyes narrowed minutely in annoyance. “So your body temperature is lower, you’re going to get cold faster, and don’t even try to hide it from me because—”  
  
“Incoming projectile, captain.”  
  
Jim’s face scrunched up in confusion.  
  
“What? AGH!”  
  
Jim stumbled forward as an icy cold something smacked into the back of his head. He shivered as he felt freezing water drip down the back of his neck.  
  
“JIM! YOU’RE DEAD!” a familiar voice hollered, and Jim froze, turning around to see Bones charging at him.  
  
“Oh shit! Every man for himself, Spock!” he cried, darting off in the other direction.  
  
“Get back here, goddamnit!” McCoy’s voice trailed dangerously close after him and he yelped as another snowball hit him hard in the center of his spine.  
  
He should’ve guessed from the doctor’s hypo-precision that he would have good aim, especially on moving (trying desperately to escape) targets.  
  
Another snowball was hurled and hit his calf with deadly precision and he stumbled, nearly toppling over. And then the breath was promptly knocked out of him as Bones tackled him into the snow, face-first.  
  
“Get mmOOFF!” he yelled into the snow as Bones pushed his face into the white fluff.  
  
“I gotta room with some preteen ensign from engineering ‘cause you couldn’t wait two seconds! And now the hobgoblin’s your best friend!” Bones growled, yanking him up by the collar.  
  
Jim took a few deep breaths, his face flushed from the icy cold but a smile creeping up regardless.  
  
“Sorry Bones, you snooze you lose—” he expertly rolled to the side as his friend attempted to smack him in the face with another tightly packed ball of snow.  
  
He did not want to know what that felt like at point-blank range.  
  
“AND I’m stuck in this winter wonderland—” Bones paused, his eyes a little crazy, the left eyelid twitching minutely as he spoke. “from _hell!_ ”  
  
Kirk winced, cautiously getting to his feet and gingerly wiping the snow from his collar.  
  
“Look, I promise I’ll make it up to you. It’s just…Spock was there and…he had no one else to room with—”  
  
Suddenly, Bones expression morphed from one of general bitchiness into knowing condescension.  
  
“Really kiddo? That’s the reason why? I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you or what…” Bones trailed off, absently wiping some of the snow off of Jim’s cotton scarf where it was beginning to solidify into ice.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Jim inquired, voice pitched low and eyes narrowed in confusion.  
  
Bones cast him a meaningful look.  
  
Jim crossed his eyes.  
  
“Ow!” he cried, as Bones smacked him with one gloved hand.  
  
“Can’t take anything seriously,” he grumbled. “Anyway, why don’t you ruminate on it for a bit, kid. Think about why you’d wanna room with Spock. Have an epiphany, I don’t know. Just do it quietly.”  
  
Jim stared blankly at him. Bones could be so cryptic sometimes—even when he was sober.  
  
“Well, hell if I know what that means,” he said after a moment, bending down to pack some snow together.  
  
He leveled McCoy with a furtive grin, and offered the figurative olive branch.  
  
“Wanna team up on Spock?”  
  
A slow grin crossed McCoy’s face.  
  
“Now you’re talkin’.”  
  
*  
  
In retrospect, teaming up with malicious intentions on a Vulcan was not the wisest of decisions.  
  
McCoy threw the first snowball, capturing Spock’s attention as it hit him solidly in the back.  
  
The Vulcan’s expression was unreadable as he turned to face the doctor, but McCoy didn’t have time to register anything on Spock’s face before it was pelted with a rather large snowball, courtesy of Jim.  
  
He had honestly planned a more elaborate and stealthy attack, but watching his stoic companion get pelted with a snowball was proving to be too much for him as he doubled-over in laughter.  
  
“Aw, Jesus. Sorry Spock. Just. Your face! I can’t, I—”  
  
Jim’s laughter faded as he eyed Spock wearily; his expression was blank as he slowly shifted to face Jim, bits of snow falling off of his face.  
  
“Uh…um…” Jim took a few tentative steps back, suddenly noticing—to his horror—that Spock’s eyes were gleaming with that mischievous light again, which could mean nothing good.  
  
Spock took two swift strides forward and suddenly gripped Jim beneath his arms, lifting him up as effortlessly as if he were a small child.  
  
God... _damn_ , Jim thought, his face flushing at how easily he was suddenly dominated by Spock.  
  
 _Bad word choice. Very bad._ He admonished himself mentally; he felt a little dizzy.  
  
“Spock! P…put me down…!” he gasped, squirming around in Spock’s grip and feeling his whole face burn bright as a few surrounding crew members turned their heads.  
  
“Yes, captain,” Spock spoke calmly, and promptly dropped Jim in a snow drift about four-feet high.  
  
When Jim looked up, disoriented and somewhat tingly all over, Spock was unabashedly _smirking_. Jim’s eyes widened.  
And then Spock released the tip of the branch that Jim had somehow missed him grabbing, and as it sprung upwards, Jim realized why there was such a large pile of snow under the tree as he was covered in a fresh layer of white fluff.  
  
*  
“I don’t think that pelting me with three dozen snowballs after I was already down for the count was entirely necessary,” Jim grumbled as he sat down at Spock’s feet in front of the fireplace in their cabin, his back against the sofa.  
  
“I was not responsible for all of them, Jim,” Spock murmured, sliding gracefully off the couch to sit next to Jim, though Jim figured it was a sneaky way to get closer to the fire, as he noted the way the Vulcan’s hands trembled ever-so-slightly.  
  
“I know. McCoy’s a traitor and I will maroon him here for mutiny later. But that’s not the point.”  
  
“What is the point, Jim?” Spock asked, his eyebrow quirking upwards and his dark eyes reflecting the eerie blue light of the fire.  
  
Jim completely forgot what he was going to say. Spock’s profile was beautiful in the firelight; his strong cheekbones glowed blue and a curving shadow fell across the bow of his lip. He knew he couldn’t possibly admonish Spock when his friend opted to use his first name so casually. He had a sneaking suspicion his first officer knew this, and used it to his advantage. God save him if Spock ever learned how to utilize puppy-dog eyes. He would never get anything done—and most assuredly lose his authority as captain…  
  
“I, ah.” He began eloquently, looking down at his hands and flexing the joints, watching the light play across them. His gaze shifted to Spock’s lightly shaking hands. “The _point_ , Spock, is that if you hadn’t gone all alpha dog snow warrior on me back there, without adequate, waterproof gloves, you wouldn’t be so damn cold right now.”  
  
Spock’s lips pressed together and his gaze flitted forward.  
  
“Not denying it, eh? Predictable,” Jim remarked, sighing and leaning forward. “Here—I’ll help you warm up.” He took one of Spock’s hands in his own, quickly rubbing his palms over the chilled skin. A completely platonic gesture, he assured himself. Spock’s hands were cold as ice.  
  
Spock went stiff in his grasp, starting to tug away, but Jim held tight, his tone admonishing as he spoke.  
  
“Oh stop. I’m not gonna cuddle you or something. I’m just trying to get some feeling back in your hands, okay?”  
  
Spock swallowed thickly, a deeply conflicted look crossing his features. Jim knew he didn’t touch people casually, but he assumed they were close enough friends at this point that such an action wouldn’t be completely reprehensible.   
  
Spock’s expression morphed into one of discomfort as Jim continued to rub his hands. If anything, the shaking seemed to intensify. When Jim looked up, his cheekbones appeared to be flushed a dark shade of olive green.  
  
“Jeez, are you okay, Spock? Maybe we should call Bones…or, M’Benga, I guess. Did you pack any thermals? Maybe—”  
  
“I am ah…adequate,” Spock said through gritted teeth, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.  
  
Jim cast a wary gaze at him, chewing on his lip with worry. His hands slowed, a thumb absently brushing across Spock’s knuckles as he considered whether or not he should attempt to contact Bones.  
  
Suddenly, Spock gasped sharply, pulling his hand out of Jim’s grip.  
  
“I believe that the rest of the crew is now convening in the dining hall for the evening meal. We should join them, captain,” Spock said, his voice the slightest bit croaky as he stiffly rose from his seated position on the floor, crossing the room quickly.  
  
“Um,” Jim began, swallowing down the pang of hurt that resonated inside of him at Spock’s aloofness. “Yeah. Sure.”  
  
He slipped his jacket on and followed Spock out of the door to the artificially illuminated pathway, the same otherworldly blue as the fireplaces lit the cracks between the stones.  
  
In the dim light, walking behind Spock, Jim could see that his hands were still lightly trembling.  
  
*  
  
The dinner served to them was lavish; a buffet of foods from all across the quadrant was laid out before each guest on the long tables in the refectory.  
  
Jim smiled to himself as he saw Spock’s icy mood lift when the Vulcan spotted a steaming pot of plomeek soup.  
  
Bones slid into the seat next to him with a plate full of mashed potatoes and turkey, heaving a sigh.  
Jim was still gazing absently at Spock, who was across the room, speaking quietly with Uhura and nurse Chapel as he got food.  
  
“So…have you been thinking on what I said?” Bones voice startled him, and he whipped his head around to face the doctor.  
  
“Wha…huh? Said what?” Jim leveled Bones with a confused look, but felt his gaze sweep back distractedly to Spock.  
  
“Well, considering you can’t take your eyes off of him, I’m gonna say you’ve been doing plenty of thinking one way or another,” Bones said, rolling his eyes as he dug into his food.  
  
Jim paused before answering, his cheeks coloring as he finally realized what Bones was implying.  
  
“Wha- Shut up. It’s not like that at all, Bones,” he snapped, then murmured into his pint of romulan ale, “sometimes I don’t even know if he likes me at all.”  
  
He was, perhaps, a little bit tipsy at this point.  
  
Bones threw back his head and laughed obnoxiously, clutching at his stomach. Jim scowled at him, the heat returning to his face.  
  
“What the hell are you laughing at, asshole?”  
  
“You and your preteen drama, Jim.” Bones sputtered, righting himself on the chair and wiping an imaginary tear from his eye.  
  
Jim pursed his lips, looking down into his cup.  
  
“Oh—come on, kid. I can’t believe I’m—Jesus. He obviously likes you. You two are attached at the damn hip 90 percent of the time.”  
  
Jim laid his cheek on his palm with a miserable expression, his elbow propped up on the table.  
  
“I just…I don’t know. One minute, s’like we’re besties.” (Bones cast him a disgusted look at the use of this word) “Then I do something that makes him pissy. Or uncomfortable. Or both. And I—”  
  
“Well what did you _do_ Jim?” Bones interrupted him, mouth full of mashed potatoes.  
  
“Nothing that bad! We were just in the cabin and—” Jim cut himself off, noticing Spock, Uhura and Chapel walking towards Bones and himself. “I’ll tell you later,” he murmured, taking another long gulp from his mug.  
  
The three joined them; Jim felt his stomach do a happy flip when Spock wordlessly sat on his other side and the two woman sat across from him.  
  
Conversation went easily, and Jim was relieved to find that Spock no longer appeared to be upset with him. McCoy’s knowing glances that were cast his way every time he made a joke to Spock, however, grated on his nerves and caused him to imbibe more romulan ale than was probably a good idea.  
  
About an hour into dinner, the Andorian female from before, Thani, entered the refectory, spotting Kirk and company and smiling brightly. Jim waved her over enthusiastically, missing the way the line of Spock’s shoulders stiffened. She walked over and sat next to Christine, giving the woman an undisguised appraising look (resulting in the nurse in question flushing an alarming shade of pink and Uhura’s eyes narrowing and her posture stiffening to match Spock’s) before turning her attention to Captain Kirk.  
  
“Captain! How are you enjoying your stay?” she inquired, brushing an errant lock of short, ivory hair behind her ear as she spoke.  
  
Jim’s eyes affixed on it, his thoughts loose and disjointed as he thought about how much more he liked the ebony shade of Spock’s hair. Such a contrast between the two. He was, apparently, a great deal more inebriated at this point than he had previously assumed.  
  
“It’s great! Everything is great!” he replied happily, a dopy smile on his face. He turned to Spock. “Everything is so great, right?”  
  
Spock’s eyebrow climbed high on his forehead as his eyes slid from Jim’s to look at Thani.  
  
“The cabins are quite aesthetically pleasing,” he spoke dryly.  
  
“We like them a lot. They’re great. You’re awesome.” Kirk spoke decisively, wondering if he could sober himself up by sheer willpower.  
  
Thani giggled, her antennae twitching in amusement.  
  
Spock rose, clearing his throat, and carrying his plate. Uhura gave Jim a pointed look, but he couldn’t decipher what it meant. Why was everyone looking at him so intensely today?  
  
“I’m glad you like the cabins. They were actually remodeled recently—I helped design them,” Thani said proudly, speaking to Uhura and Chapel as well. “I do like helping out around here—but I am an architect major.”  
  
Christine smiled at her.  
  
“That is very interesting! How did you end up here?” she asked.  
  
Thani smiled back, playing with a strand of her hair.  
  
“Well, actually, my girlfriend got me a job here,” she said, a faraway look of happiness shining in her eyes. “She works here too. Actually, I think she’s here now…”  
  
Thani tilted her head to the side, her antennae shifting slightly, then she turned her head and gazed to the doorway, where another Andorian female stood, silvery hair pulled back into a braid and a smile on her lips as she gazed over to the table where they all sat.  
  
“Well, if you’ll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen. Have a good evening,” she said, voice soft, and departed.  
  
“Wow,” was all Jim could say, his eyebrows raised as he looked at the two ladies sitting across from him for some sort of confirmation.  
  
Uhura simply rolled her eyes.  
  
A few minutes later Spock returned, a plate of fruit in his hands.  
  
Jim had zoned out as the other three occupants of the table carried on in conversation, but his attention snapped immediately to the Vulcan as he sat down. Spock began wordlessly transferring the peach slices from his own plate to Jim’s, as he always did in the mess hall, and biting into the strawberries himself.  
  
Jim munched on the peach slices, savoring the sweet, sticky flavor as his eyes slipped shut. He opened them when he noticed that the others at the table had stopped talking.  
  
All three of them were staring at him and Spock.  
  
“What?” Jim said defensively, sucking some of the sweet juice off of his fingertips.  
  
“Didn’t think the hobgoblin would share food with anyone. Certainly not someone with table manners like yours, Jim,” Bones said finally, clearly fighting laughter.  
  
Jim rolled his eyes, biting into another peach slice.  
  
“Whatever. I like peaches. Spock likes strawberries. So when he gets mixed fruit, I eat the peaches. And he eats the strawberries. It’s not…rocket science,” Jim finished his speech lamely, wearily surveying the faces of his two female friends, who were giggling about something.  
He stood up from the table, swaying a bit, and grabbed the edge of his chair to balance himself.  
  
“I am…the captain! And I will _not._ Be giggled at,” he declared, only slurring his words slightly, for which he was immensely proud.  
  
Spock stood up slowly, bracing a gentle hand at the back of his elbow, to steady him. Jim’s whole body went lax at the small brush of contact, and he wondered how deep in he was that he could so easily be mellowed by the barest of touches from Spock.  
  
Spock cleared his throat quietly.  
  
“I think that it is time to return to the cabin, captain. You are fatigued, and require rest,” Spock said in a low voice, tugging slightly at Jim’s arm to start moving him towards the door.  
  
Uhura and Chapel exchanged glances and giggled once more.  
  
“Yeah, just keep giggling!” Jim called back over his shoulder as he allowed himself to be towed along by his first officer. “Spock’n I are gonna go build a snowman!”  
  
“Is that what they’re callin’ it these days?” McCoy murmured, rolling his eyes.  
  
*  
  
When Jim awoke the next morning, it was with a headache and a stuffy nose.  
  
 _Great_. He thought, _Second day of shore leave and I’m sick!_  
  
He punctuated the thought with a loud sneeze. Spock, who was sitting on the couch, reading a datapad, looked up suspiciously. Jim offered a guilty smile and then darted off to the bathroom. Maybe he’d feel better after a shower.  
  
The hot steam filling his lungs from the shower made him feel deceptively better, but after he had dressed himself in a pair of worn jeans and a dark gray Henley and stepped out of the bathroom, he could feel all manner of unpleasant fluids threatening to leak from his nose, and gave a weak, wet cough.  
  
“You are sick,” Spock stated, no question in his tone.  
  
“Nuh uh,” Jim replied nasally, his face wan as he sat down on his bed and pretended to look busy rifling through his bag.  
  
“Yes, Jim, you are,” Spock replied decisively, rising from the couch and walking towards his own bed. “You have flu-like symptoms, and you no doubt will develop a fever soon. I will comm Doctor McCoy—”  
  
“No!” Jim shouted, bounding up from his bed to stand in front of Spock. “No, don’t do that to me Spock, not on Christmas!”  
  
Spock fixed him with a merciless look.  
  
“Christmas is tomorrow, captain.”  
  
Jim groaned, pulling at his hair.  
  
“He will _quarantine_ me, Spock! Stick me with hypos! Poke out my eyeballs!”  
  
Spock’s expression did not shift.  
  
“If you are ill, it is illogical not to—”  
  
“Nope! Not happening! I’m not sick, and you are not getting Bones—” Jim’s eyes shifted around wildly, finally landing on Spock’s bedside table, where his handheld comm unit sat.  
  
In a wild flurry of movement, he leapt onto Spock’s bed and snatched up his communicator, darting away to the other side of the room.  
  
 _Fuck yeah. I’m so fast._ He thought triumphantly.  
  
And then promptly realized he had nowhere to go.  
  
Spock was staring at him, eyebrow arched nearly to his hairline.  
  
“Jim, return my communicator,” he spoke with a soft sigh, taking a step forward.  
  
Jim’s eyes darted around wildly.  
  
“No! Sorry!” he yelped, running for the couch and bracing himself in front of it.  
  
Spock’s eyes narrowed and he stepped up to the couch, his gate slow and graceful like a jungle cat. When he spoke his voice was low and dangerous underneath the polite veneer, and Jim’s stomach gave an excited little flip.  
  
“ _Captain,_ return my communicator, or I will _take it from you_.”  
  
Jim swallowed, Spock’s eyes burning dark and something else unnamable into his own.  
  
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly brought the communicator around behind him and slipped the metal set into his back pocket. His jeans were tight, and it would not easily be taken from him.  
  
Jim could’ve sworn Spock’s eyes physically darkened, if such a thing were even possible.  
  
He suddenly realized he was in deep shit. He had backed himself into a corner.  
  
 _Not a very smart tactical move…_ he thought, his eyes darting to the door as he started to edge his way around the couch.  
  
Spock was in front of him in a minute, the couch being the only protective barrier between the two. A dangerous gleam shone in his eye, and his posture was threatening—poised for attack.  
  
Making a split second decision, Jim leaped diagonally onto the couch, bending low and jumping with all the strength his legs could muster over the back of the couch.  
  
He almost made it, when suddenly, he felt a pair of arms close in an iron grip around his waist, tugging him back into a warm body as the air was knocked out of his chest.  
  
Gasping for breath, he squirmed in Spock’s arms, kicking him in the knee and shoving against his shoulder as Spock attempted to maneuver his arms down by his sides. Jim felt his face flush in exertion and…something else as writhed against the hard body, his feet dangling a few inches above the floor.  
  
“Let me go, god DAMN IT!” he cursed, finally getting one foot on the floor and pushing off as hard as he could.  
  
With that momentum and a hard jerk from his torso, he sent them both toppling over the back of the sofa and onto its cushions.  
  
Kirk landed on top of Spock, and “oof” escaping his lungs as the hard planes of bone and muscle slammed against him.  
  
He struggled weakly to get up, but one of Spock’s arms held him firmly in place against the hot line of his body while the other trailed down his back.  
  
Kirk felt dizzy, his head spinning, and a shiver wracked his body as he felt Spock’s fingertips trail down his back.  
  
What the hell was happening?!  
  
Struggling to get an arm underneath him, he pushed against Spock’s chest, finally getting a good look at the Vulcan’s expression. His eyes were incredibly dark; the pupil nearly swallowed up the entirety of the chocolate-brown iris. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed green, and the smirk that Jim had seen before was in place.  
  
Suddenly Jim felt a hand on his ass, and gasped. Spock’s long fingers reached into his back pocket, dragging along the super-thin fabric. Jim could practically feel those fingers against his skin as they expertly extracted the communicator from his back pocket.  
  
Unable to control himself, he dropped his head, moaning quietly into the curve of Spock’s neck. And then his body went rigid as he realized what he had done.  
  
He squirmed, trying to get free and slink away in humiliation, but Spock’s grip remained iron-tight around his waist.  
  
“Come on Spock, you win! Lemme go!” he growled, pushing against Spock’s chest with his one free hand.  
  
Suddenly, he heard the sound of a metal clunking to the floor, resonating through the spacious cabin, and strained his neck to look. Spock had dropped the communicator on the floor.  
  
Before Kirk could even process what that meant, Spock’s now free hand was gently gripping his chin, forcing Jim to look at him.  
  
“Why didn’t you tell me, Jim?” he said, softly, his eyes half-lidded but sparkling with that same light that always enticed Jim inexplicably; except now he could explain it—how could he not have known he felt this way? It was so obvious to him now.  
  
Jim gave up on struggling, flopping his head down on Spock’s shoulder in resignation. At least he wasn’t pushing him away. Of course it would be the Vulcan that would hold him down and force him to talk about his feelings.  
  
“Because I’m stupid, because I didn’t know, because you’re really hot…” Jim mumbled into the fabric of Spock’s shirt, suddenly very conscious of all the places where Spock’s body was touching his own.  
  
“You are not stupid, Jim, merely unobservant,” Spock muttered in a low voice, and suddenly his lips were brushing Jim’s neck with kisses.  
  
Jim gasped, Spock’s name a whisper on his lips—a hopeful question.  
  
Spock squeezed him once around the waist, his tight grip finally receding as he stroked lower with his fingertips, brushing them across Jim’s hipbones where his Henley was riding up. His other hand moved to the base of Jim’s spine and he slowly dragged his fingertips up the bare skin of Jim’s back, snagging the fabric up as he went. Jim shuddered violently, a groan tumbling from his lips. His whole body felt ignited with desire; sweat began to prickle at his hair line.  
  
Spock’s lips paused at the base of Jim’s throat, sucking lightly.  
  
“I find that reaction very…pleasing,” he murmured into the skin.  
  
“Ngh,” Jim replied intelligently, trying to subtly shift his hips away from (or perhaps into) the well-muscled thigh that was pressed tightly between his legs. “Fucking—kiss me, damn it.”  
  
Not waiting for a reaction, Jim pressed up onto his elbows and grabbed Spock’s face in his hands, pressing his lips soundly against the Vulcan’s. He felt a surge of joy as Spock kissed back, very nearly smiling against his lips. He ran his hands—tentatively at first, and then with more confidence—through Spock’s neat bowl cut, taking great joy in mussing the strands as he took Spock’s bottom lip between his teeth and bit gently.  
  
Pulling back, he laughed with pure joy; Spock’s eyes sparkled brightly and his cheeks were flushed, the straight line of his silky black bangs messed and sticking up.  
  
“I love you, God,” Jim said thoughtlessly, and then stiffened, cursing himself internally for possibly ruining everything. “I mean—”  
  
Spock silenced him with a kiss.  
  
Neither of them spoke much after that.  
  
When Jim pulled away, gasping a few minutes later, Spock began sucking bruising kisses into his throat and collarbone, his fingers trailing under Jim’s shirt and making Jim a pliant, moaning puddle.  
  
He ran his fingertips over Jim’s knuckles, his eyes slipping closed as he did so.  
  
“Your hands are really sensitive, huh? The cold must’ve done a number on them.”  
  
Spock tilted his head.  
  
“Vulcan hands are indeed very sensitive. In fact, they are an erogenous zone for most of the species. The touching and stroking of fingertips in Vulcan culture is the equivalent of a human kiss.”  
  
Jim suddenly realized the importance of Spock’s words.  
  
“Wait…” he began, already feeling his face flush at the memory, “So…last night…I was basically making out with you?”  
  
“Essentially,” Spock answered soberly, though the shade of green on his cheeks darkened.  
  
And that was just too perfect to resist.  
  
Locking eyes with Spock, Jim grabbed the hand caressing his own and slowly brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips against the knuckles and watching as Spock’s eyes fluttered, and a gasp fell from his lips.  
  
With what sounded like a growl, Spock reversed their positions, flipping Jim over and settling himself between Jim’s thighs.  
  
“You have the next 6 hours to convince me that you are healthy enough not to necessitate a medical call to Doctor McCoy,” Spock spoke into the skin of Jim’s throat, trailing a hand down his jean-clad thigh.  
  
Jim laughed, all the while feeling a stirring heat and anticipation in his belly.  
  
“I’ve got great stamina, don’t worry. Merry Christmas, Spock.”  
  
“It’s not Christmas yet, Jim.”  
  
Jim rolled his eyes.  
  
“Shut up,” he laughed, wrapping his legs around the Vulcan’s waist and pulling him down into another kiss.  
  
*  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> WHY IS THIS SO LONG  
> WHY IS IT 1 IN THE MORNING  
> WHY DIDd i EWIRTE THIS
> 
> merry fucking christmas fuck you
> 
>  
> 
> ♥


End file.
